


Something More

by peterplanet



Category: harry holland - Fandom
Genre: :'), F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 05:12:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18631501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterplanet/pseuds/peterplanet
Summary: the three times in which harry holland is her best friend, and the one time that he’s something more.





	Something More

You are standing on the edge of something greater with Harry Holland. While you do not know what this is or what exactly it entails, you know that it is more grandiose than anything you’ve ever dealt with before. 

You have never been in love before, and you certainly have never been in love with your best friend. It is terrifying, heart-racing, adrenaline inducing, and you do not know what it means. You barely know if he reciprocates these feelings.

There was no starting point. There was no moment where you woke up and, in a sudden burst of clarity, thought that you were in love with Harry Holland. A part of you is ashamed that, if there had been a moment, you would want to go back and erase it. You don’t want to be in love with Harry Holland—daft, reckless, recklessly daft Harry Holland—because he is your best friend. There are very few things in life that are guarantees besides death and taxes, but Harry Holland being your best friend is a constant that you don’t want to lose. 

You don’t know what you’re going to do if he finds out. A part of you hopes that he never will.

* * *

**_one:_ **

You stand with Harry Holland in his family garden on a spring morning. His brother, Paddy, is running around the garden cackling madly at a joke that only he understands and cannot possibly get out between breathless gasps for air. It is something that you will never understand, but this moment is something that you will never forget.

There’s a certain stillness to the air that you breathe that, if observed, can make one believe that they have frozen time. There is no past, no future. There is only this moment in your best friend’s garden with his little brother as he kicks a football about. There is only the faint chirping of birds and the scent of tea coming from the kitchen, the laughter of Paddy that is directed at his own joke. There is nothing more, nothing less to time than what is laid out before you right now. 

Tessa, their dog, sleeps at your feet. Tom has left for the week to do some press—a short duration, really—and Harry did not go with him like usual. You do not know why, and you do not think that you ever will. Like Paddy’s joke that he cannot choke out around his gasping breaths, you will never know what really went on. Some things in life are simply too big for one person to understand if they did not go through them personally—other things are too miniscule for someone to care about. If Harry doesn’t want to share his reasonings with you, you’re not going to push him for them. It’s not the most important thing about him right now. 

Just as you begin to think about how the world so rarely gives peaceful moments such as these, you’re struck in the face by a football. You can hear Paddy’s frantic apologies as he runs towards you, childish screeches interceded by the pounding of footsteps on the pavement. Over that though, is the striking tremble of Harry’s voice.

“You dipshit!” He seethes, red surrounding him as he blocks you from Paddy’s view. 

You can imagine him enveloped by the color, consumed by it in its entirety as he tries his best to block you from Paddy. It’s as if he believes that by just looking at you, Paddy will hurt you again.

“Oh my God, (y/n), I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t—I wasn’t—I…” Paddy’s not breathing between phrases and his words all come tumbling out in one big rush, a hurried accent of slurred words that you can’t quite make out but somehow can.

“Pads, it’s—” You’re trying to intercept his words, tell him that it’s okay because you know he didn’t mean it; the moment was too peaceful to ever be malicious.

“Just go inside for a bit, Paddy. She might have a concussion thanks to you,” Harry grumbles out before you can stop him.

You can see a sudden gleam to Paddy’s eyes as he passes you and you take his hand to squeeze as he brushes your side. Harry can say things he doesn’t mean when he’s mad and you know firsthand what that’s like. Surely, you don’t have a concussion; Harry’s just mad and protective and you do not stop to think that he is all of these things for you. 

When Paddy is inside the house, you realize that time never stopped as you let yourself believe. It has always been ticking, counting up to this moment where Harry has your face in his hands and his eyes are searching yours as if it’s the only thing he knows how to do. Harry is checking over your face and trying to assess any damages, but you know that you’re fine. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be standing here looking at him so clearly in the bright sunshine. 

“Harry, I’m fine,” you try to assure him, hands swatting at his that are still cupping your face. “I wouldn’t be talking to you right now if I wasn’t, okay?”

He’s frowning, though, as you say that. You know that he doesn’t believe you, and you don’t blame him. If he were in your position and you were checking him for any signs of a concussion, you know that you’d be thinking the same thing as him. You’d be just as worried.

“It was a pretty hard hit, (y/n). I’m not so sure that you’re fine, do you think we should go to A&E? Should I ask my mum? What…Are you sure that you’re fine?”

And with his concern, you realize that you’re not so sure. You’re not totally positive that you’re fine, that you’re not injured. The rational part of you knows that you are, but with the concern laced into your best friend’s voice, you’re not so sure that you believe yourself.

That’s how you know that he truly cares about you. This is the first moment that you know that Harry Holland is truly your best friend.

* * *

**_two_ **

You are seated at the Holland’s dining room table on a summer afternoon. Dinner has long been finished and you find yourself lost in the conversation, not really saying much but still listening. Not necessarily to the words, though; you’re listening to the low timber in Tom’s voice as he talks about one of his recent travels, watching the way that Sam’s eyes light up as he talks about his girlfriend. You are losing yourself in the conversation without really knowing what’s being said; and this is something that will be held against you.

Harry, of course, is the first to notice that you’re not participating in the conversation to your fullest extent. You’ve travelled with him before, surely you have embarrassing stories to add to the conversation? But you sit quiet, and you can see the concern in his eyes just as clearly as you’re able to read the passion in Tom’s as he talks about an upcoming project.

“You okay?” Harry asks, voice a low murmur against your ear. 

His hand is on your thigh as he leans over to speak to you without disrupting Tom entirely. It’s a warm constant in the moment, a gentle reminder of the present and all that’s happening in it. It is nice, gentle. It is an easy reminder of the moment that you are living in.

It is this quiet reassurance, this gentle air that Harry has when speaking to you that makes you realize just how lucky you are to have him in your life. In this thought, there is no added line of best friend. There is no addition of how lucky you are to have him as anything more than a constant presence that is toeing the line between best friend and something else. You are not sure what that something else is. You aren’t sure just exactly it could be. 

All you know is that you’re lucky to be experiencing it with Harry Holland. 

This sentiment comes rushing out hastily, your eyes not quite focused on Tom as he speaks but not quite looking past him. Once more, you are falling into the softness of a moment with Harry Holland with a sentiment that is too big for you to fully express.

The best way that you can put it comes tumbling out of your lips, a confession of, “I’ve never been better.”

* * *

**_three_ **

 

Harry and Harrison are playing some game on your couch that you don’t quite understand. It’s their own version of dominoes, you think, but you’re not quite clear on the rules. Too much time has passed now for you to ask for clarification, so you’re sitting in comfortable silence as you watch them play.

Tom sits next to you and you’re comforted to know that he, too, does not fully understand the rules of this game. It’s nice to know that you’re not the only one that’s lost right now. Maybe you’re not stupid; maybe it’s just the two boys playing it that are.

“He’s whipped, y’know,” Tom speaks into the silence that’s settled between the two of you.

You won’t deny the sudden burst of jealousy that floods through you. The feelings that you have towards Harry Holland are no longer verging on friendship; they are toeing the line of something that is identifying itself as romantic. Best friends don’t put hands on their best friend’s knees. Best friends don’t search for a reason to touch each other in ways that attract affectionate gazes from strangers. Best friends don’t love each other like this, certainly, and you’ve been hoping beyond all hope that what you share with Harry is mutual. 

“For who?” You won’t deny that there’s a strange note to your voice. Tom doesn’t know you well enough to detect it though, he doesn’t know you in the way that Harry does. 

What Tom does know, though, is what he can see. He can see the way that Harry studies your features when you’re not looking. He can see the way that you laugh at the dumb things that Harry says. He can see, from an outsiders perspective, that the feelings you’ve been harboring and developing for Harry are mutual. 

His laugh echoes through your apartment and catches the attention of Harry and Harrison. Private conversation no longer private, you know that you’re not going to get a verbal answer to your question. If you were to look, though, you would find your answer written in the jealous spark in Harry’s eyes.

* * *

★

You’re at Tom and Harrison’s big New Year’s Eve party, standing by Harry’s side when the countdown begins. You’ve both had a generous amount to drink—not enough to forget tonight, but just enough to tint the memory pink—as you lean into each other.

Harry’s arm is around your waist and you’re both watching the ball drop from some part of London that you couldn’t identify even if you were one-hundred-percent sober. It doesn’t matter, anyways; you’re going to be ringing in the New Year with your best friend

It hits you, suddenly, that you’re no longer best friends. Best friends don’t hold each other like this. Best friends don’t search each other’s eyes for a sign of a concussion. Best friends don’t watch each other play dumb games without making comments. Best friends do not have this type of energy between them, this connection that runs deeper than anything you’ve ever felt before.

It is bone deep. It is knuckle-gripping, love-inducing, genuine care and compassion that you share with Harry Holland. It is not what best friends feel and it has not been for quite some time. It didn’t take the liquor for you to realize this, it just took the liquor for you to do something about it.

The numbers are dropping beneath ten when you turn in his embrace. His warm eyes search yours, and in a moment of utter clarity your lips are touching and you’re kissing. There is no past, no future. There is only this moment where you are kissing your best friend to the chorus of Happy New Year! echoing off the walls of Tom and Harrison’s apartment. There is only this moment, here, where you and Harry are no longer best friends.

There is only this moment where you are something more.


End file.
